Because who needs Julie?
by Redhead Maniac
Summary: Mark was hoping he'd meet someone by the end of next year. Well, his wish came true. [Mark meets Norman]


Mark installs the camera on an old tripod, putting it down right onto the plush beige carpet in his living room and turning it so that the camera faces the huge, glowing Christmas tree with a man clad only in denim sitting right beneath it.

"So, where do you want me?" Norman smirks as he casually leans back on his hands, looking at Mark through his pale lashes.

The man is gorgeous. All lean yet neither muscular nor scrawny, just the right amount of both. He's got killer arms and broad, swimmer-like shoulders, but his stomach is soft and supple, no visible six-pack to show off. He's got nice legs, too — strong thighs and calves, but for some reason he is really bashful whenever Mark looks at his feet. Mark doesn't see what's wrong with them, nothing, as far as he's concerned, but Norman does have that little quirk and calls them "ugly hobbit feet". He's gotten a spoon to the back of his head for the remark a couple of times. And his eyes are a pale, icy-blue, squinted to slits or at half-mast most of the time in what many presume to be a hate-filled glare, but now Mark knows better. Norman's got short, ruffled blond hair, his natural colour, which he used to dye brown when they first met. It was much longer too.

"Babe?" Norman's curious voice snaps him out of his thoughts and Mark blushes as he realises he's been ogling the man through the lenses.

"Just... Just keep leaned back and cross your legs in front of you."

"I can do that," the man nods, doing just as he is told. Mark clears his throat and lies on his stomach to get a good view and take a shot.

Norman doesn't ask about it, as he likes to take pictures himself and knows a thing or two about photography. Actually, that's how they met. Mark was working (he still is) at the art-gallery hall, overlooking that stupid Christmas show when the man stumbled inside from the cold, shaking out his coat from the few snowflakes and thanking the stuff guy who offered to take it from him. It wasn't as crowded as on the opening night, but still quite lively. He remembered thinking he'd done something wrong and burning up in embarrassment when that steely gaze settled on him for a second.

He still doesn't know why or how Norman hung out until the closing hours and asked him out on a brief walk to the bus station. And somehow those fifteen minutes walking on the busy, bright streets towards the bus stop and talking about art have turned into a relationship seven months later. Yeah, it took Mark that long to figure out the guy's intentions, not to mention he was still not completely over Julie.

"You finished?" his boyfriend smiles, tilting his head to the side and Markus dies a little inside from the sheer wave of happiness. He is so lucky.

"No, not yet," Mark can't help the face-splitting smile, scrambling to get up and rush to the sofa to get something.

"Oh, oh no-o-o," Norman groans and begins to chuckle as he sees the bright-red Santa hat clutched tightly in Mark's grip.

"Yep. Come on, put it on," Mark laughs as he kneels in front of Norman, pushing his hair back with his fingers and settling the hat on top of his beloved's head.

"I bet I look stupid," Norman grins.

"You do," Mark chuckles and then Norman wounds a hand around his neck, pulling him down to press a pair of warm, chapped lips against his cold ones.

"Oh, this is nice," Mark murmurs against them, hearing the rumbling laughter rising up in the man's chest. He doesn't get to say more as Norman's free hand grips him at the waist and the blond pulls him into his bare chest, almost forcing Mark to straddle those slim hips. Damn, but Mark loves the sharp contrast between Norman's hips and his shoulders. The proportions are fucking amazing.

He rests his hands on those shoulders, exchanging a languid kiss with his boyfriend under the Christmas tree, the man's hand slipping lower to cup his ass and squeeze a little. In return, Mark grinds against his crotch, smirking into the narrow lips as the man groans. He can definitely feel a bulge developing under the blue denim.

"I love you, babe," it's so quiet Mark isn't sure it's there, but his breath catches and his heart thumps against his chest.

"I, I..." oh Lord this is so awkward, but Norman shushes him by claiming his lips, more insistent this time and slipping his tongue inside, making Mark moan. Damn he knows what he's doing, and Mark doesn't regret a damn thing about it.

He remembers the first time they did it. He was still visiting a psychoanalytic to get over his highly inappropriate feelings towards Julie and escape the misery whenever he saw them together with his best friend. Then one day she suddenly asked him if he was in love, to which he naturally answered affirmatively, but then she had said "No, not with Julie" and that baffled him. That was also around the time he started to get together for lunch breaks with Norman, but he didn't think anything about that. Basically speaking, he was so latched onto Julie and deep in denial he couldn't see what was right under his nose. He couldn't even recognise his own feelings, for fuck's sake. He had a bloody psychoanalyst point it out to him. And then she'd started to try and convince him to confess, saying it would make getting over Julie that much easier. Bottled feelings, distractions and such. He'd been really opposed to the idea, laughing it off until one day he caught Norman staring at him with such an intense gaze full is something, all words caught in his throat.

So he'd begun working up the nerve to approach the man with the subject. Not without some (actually, a lot of) help from his psychoanalyst, of course.

It had been at least a dozen times of the worst case of sweaty-palms, body tremors, stuttering and puzzled looks before he finally did it.

In a rather unconventional way.

He was over at Norman's apartment, helping him cook dinner for the art house movie marathon they had planned. And while Mark grew to be surprisingly comfortable around Norman, something in the air that evening made him excessively nervous. So when he came out from the kitchen announcing everything was ready and made his way towards Norman, who was sitting on the couch tinkering with the remote, he totally missed the pillow strewn on the floor.

That resulted in a rather surprised look in his wide eyes, a lot of arm-flailing and an inelegant fall, which Norman attempted to interrupt by reaching out to grab him. They ended up in a heap on the floor, Mark having been hit in the ribs by the table-corner and Norman bracing himself on his arms, atop him, clearly taken aback by the intimate position they found themselves in. Gasping and grunting from pain Mark tried to laugh it off, freezing when he noticed the agonizingly intense stare of the blazing blues. Muttering a "I will be damned," Mark then did the only thing he could come up with. He surged forward on his elbows and pressed his lips against Norman's, self-aware and tentative. He wasn't anticipating the immediate and fierce response.

After they lay spent on the plush carpet, buck-naked and warm, Mark whispered "I really, really like you," in a sleepy, quiet voice. "No shit," snorted Norman.

And that, basically, is how their relationship started.

"Come on, where are you?" Norman inquires a bit accusingly, brushing his knuckles against Mark's cheek and trailing wet kisses up the pale column of his neck.

"Just..ah... Just remembering our first time together," Mark blushes. He's such a sap.

Norman snorts.

"What?"

"Nuthin'," the man chuckles and Mark huffs, yanking his Christmas hat off. "You know what, you do look really ridiculous with this thing on."

Norman wiggles his eyebrows "You don't find it kinky?"

"Oh God, no!" Mark bursts into laughter, shaking his head.

"That's alright, I can think of a thing or two that you'll find so," Norman's grin becomes nothing short of feral.

Suddenly Mark remembers about the strawberry sundae sitting in the fridge, and as Norman looks at him, Mark knows that he knows what he's thinking about.

He groans in the most awkward combination of amusement, embarrassment and awaking arousal.

The kinky bastard.

He's insanely happy he gets to spend this year's Christmas with Norman, though.

And he's never been happier it never could work out with Julie.

Because who needs Julie when you have _this_?


End file.
